


Caution: This Side Up

by KareliaSweet



Series: Instruction Manual [3]
Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Grand(ish) Gestures, M/M, Spacedogs Appreciation Week, Successful Furniture Assembly, Worry, fretting, relationship building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 19:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6091582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KareliaSweet/pseuds/KareliaSweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nigel has always behaved a little strangely. Adam is used to that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I realized about two-thirds of the way through the prompts I was filling for Spacedogs week that I was actually building a universe for these two, and this story became the culmination of it. It's been lovely to fall in love with this pair afresh, and I have a feeling we may see more from them in the future!

Nigel has always behaved a little strangely. Adam is used to that.

He's used to the smoking, and the odd hours, and the sometimes drinking more than he should. He's definitely used to the swearing (the swearing, they both know, he likes).

None of this bothers him. It's part of what makes Nigel  _Nigel_ , along with his fierce loyalty and soft affection, his countless pet names. His long, slow kisses.

What Adam isn't used to is Nigel acting like this. Like he’s… afraid of him.

He doesn't think he's doing it intentionally, but Adam has noticed that he's stopped inviting him into his apartment. He always greets him at the door, jumpy, his own locked secure behind him.

He's also very eager to pop out and kiss Adam goodbye when he leaves for the day, which should be a good sign, but he expends so much nervous energy behind it that it sets Adam on edge.

And on the two nights that they haven't slept together in the past week, Nigel has been silent. Silent is not Nigel's default. Normally he blasts a cacophony of swears through the walls, partly to try and entice Adam and partly because he just can't help it.

All in all, his behaviour has not been normal, and Adam is worried.

He's read books on relationships, he has learned how to parse out patterns and social cues. He knows what it says on the page about what happens when your partner exhibits a sudden change in behaviour.

But that's not Nigel. Nigel loves him.

After two weeks and no change, Adam begins to close off. He tries not to, but it just feels easier, rather than attempting to deal with the abrasive energy Nigel is emanating.

He leaves his apartment a little earlier to escape the send-off kiss, treads the steps quietly when he comes home.

Doesn't knock on Nigel's door.

He opens his own door, quietly, resigned, flips the light on.

"Petal?"

Adam screams.

Nigel jumps.

"Fuck! Sorry, baby, you didn't close your fucking door all the way and I didn't get my kiss."

He bends low, one hand at Adam's waist. "How was my petal's day, then?"

Adam stiffens under him, keeps his eyes on the edge of Nigel's sleeve.

"Fine," he says tersely, dodges and turns to offer cheek instead of mouth when Nigel bends to kiss him. He feels Nigel's fingers clench responsively in worry.

"Hey," he tilts his head, nudging his nose over Adam's temple, "what's going on in there?"

He pulls a little, tries to gather Adam into his arms. Adam goes, woodenly, as if by rote. Nigel's hands move in circles over his back, the way he likes, willing the tension to melt out of him. Slowly, and very gingerly, Adam lets little parts of himself go pliant.

First one shoulder drops, then another. His left arm warms and loosens, his right bends to softly clutch a loose handful of Nigel's shirt. He rolls his neck, lets it loll forward so that his forehead tucks against Nigel's throat.

Maybe he was misreading again. Adam does that, he knows he does that. Nigel is here now, and holding him so nicely, everything must be fine.

He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. A faint chemical tang hits his nose.

"What's that smell?" he says curiously.

The tension seizes up Nigel's muscles instantly.

"Fucking nothing," he babbles, extricating Adam from his grip, "but I should take a fucking shower, right? If you smell something."

He ducks for a brief kiss, rubs his knuckles under Adam's jaw.

"I'll be back quick as a flash, darling."

And he is out the door. Adam locks it behind him, settles himself in, heats up a bowl of mac and cheese and turns the TV on, volume as loud as he can stand it.

He ignores Nigel's furtive knocking fifteen minutes later, ignores his cries through the wall ten minutes after that.

When he goes to sleep, curled up under his weighted blanket, he ignores his tears too.

-x-

Nigel is very bad at keeping secrets.

He knows he's been jumpy as a fucking cricket, but he has no choice, he has to keep Adam out of his apartment until he's finished. He tries to make up for it with extra kisses, which had worked for a while, but now Adam doesn't seem to be buying it.

And last night, he just fucking ignored him. That doesn't sit well at all.

It's a good thing he's almost done.

He shivers in the frigid air of his apartment. He'd flung open all the windows last night to air out the paint fumes, had huddled under layer of blankets and still been cold.

Nigel is always cold without Adam curled up next to him. Which is why he's doing this.

He hears the comforting sounds of Adam going about his morning ablutions, pulls a sweater on, gets ready to swing the door open to ambush him with a morning smooch.

Five minutes go by, seven, ten. Then the hurried patter of feet chasing down the steps. He runs to his door, but Adam is already out the building. Runs to his window, yells out after him.

"Adam!" he calls, tries again, "Petal!"

Adam raises a backward hand in a half-hearted wave, but keeps walking away.

"Love you," Nigel whispers to no one who can hear.

That does it.

He eyes the beast currently crowding his living room and curls his lip. It could do with another coat of varnish but there's no more fucking time.

"Alright you fucker," Nigel says, "let's do this."

-x-

Adam had prepared for a couple of eventualities when he came home. Nigel sitting on the doorstep of the apartment building, maybe. Nigel standing outside his door. He's rehearsed the words he's going to say, practiced and even. He's going to use words like 'space' and 'growth' because that's what the book recommends, even if he doesn't want any space. He just wants his old Nigel back.

Nigel isn't on the doorstep, so Adam starts drawing a breath when he ascends the second flight of stairs. He's prepared for this.

He's not prepared for the large navy blue desk that fills the hallway instead.

"Wha-" he says out loud, but there's too many other questions that fill his brain, so the words trail off. "Nigel?"

Nigel opens his apartment door, sheepish smile on his face. He gestures to the desk.

"It's, um," he scratches the back of his neck, looks up from under his brow, "it's a space desk."

Adam sets his bag to the floor. "A what?"

Nigel gestures for him to come closer, and when he does, Adam's eyes blow wide with shock.

The desk isn't just navy blue, it's painted across the top with deep violet and black, dotted with pinpoints of silver and swirls of rose-gold. There are galaxies painted on this desk. Actual, identifiable galaxies.

"Nigel," he breathes, "you - you made this?"

"Yeah," Nigel replies, "you don't have a desk and I know you fucking need one for your work and your books. So," he waves a hand, "here."

Adam looks up at him, awestruck. "This is really beautiful." He runs a tentative finger across it. "Is this what you were hiding from me?"

Nigel ducks his head, chagrined. "Sorry, baby."

Adam accepts the apology, nods, keeps running his hand over the smooth wood, the intricate curling nebula . "Please don't do that again, Nigel, I had to read this boring book to try and figure out why you were behaving like that and it led me to believe that you were cheating on me." He glances up over his shoulder and Nigel looks positively stricken.

"Cheating on you?" He grabs Adam by the shoulders, pulls and tucks him under so his chin hooks over his head. "Baby, no, fucking never. Never  _ever_." He laughs quietly and kisses the top of Adam's head. "I'd cut off my fucking dick first."

Adam's face scrunches up and he frowns into Nigel's chest. "That's disgusting, don’t do that."

"Course not. Now come kiss me, petal, I've fucking missed you."

Adam tilts his head up, lets himself be kissed long and slow. He winds his arms around Nigel's waist, tugs playfully at his belt loops.

"This desk is really big," he says against Nigel's lips, "I don't know where I'm going to fit it."

"Well," Nigel replies, peeling himself away, "I thought it could go in our apartment."

He turns Adam in his arms, wrapping arms around his waist and pulling his back flush against his broad chest.

" _Our_ apartment?" Adam flicks his eyes between their two front doors. "We don't have an apartment."

Nigel leans back carefully on the desk, standing directly between both doorways, fingers at Adam’s hip.

"No," he agrees, nuzzling Adam's throat, "but we could."

Silence, for a moment, as they breathe and Adam allows the links of the chain to form. Then he sighs with just an edge of exasperation, squirms in his grip to look over his shoulder.

"Nigel, are you asking me to move in with you?"

Nigel squeezes, trying to overlay his nerves with affection. "Yes, petal."

Adam looks to the left, to his door, to Nigel’s at the right, then dead center between them.

"Okay,” he says.

"Okay? Just - okay? Just like fucking that?"

Adam nods.

"We'll have to find a different apartment, we can't move into each other's, there's not enough space in either of them. The two-bedrooms in this building are all occupied, but there are several in the area in our price range. There's one really nice one that has a balcony you could smoke on."

Nigel is quiet for a moment.

"You've been looking at fucking apartments for us." He smiles around the words, tastes them, repeats them just to revel in how good they feel, "fucking apartments. For us."

Adam finally wrestles free, turns to face Nigel and smiles softly.

"Yes," he says, "of course." His gaze fixes just over Nigel's left shoulder. "You come over almost every night, we're always sleeping in the same bed, it would be more cost effective to find a place to share."

To anyone else the words might sound dry and unromantic, but right now Nigel could be blown over by a feather.

"Petal," he clears his throat, already rather choked up, "I fucking love you."

"I know," Adam replies, "That's another reason why we should live together."

Nigel gathers him up in his arms, picks him up, spinning him round in what little space they have between furniture and doorway. He whoops loudly once, and Adam laughs until he grows dizzy. When he sets him to the ground, Adam loops his fingers in Nigel's hair, kisses his jaw, his throat.

"Nigel," he says fondly, "what would you have done with that desk if I'd said no?"

Nigel shrugs. "Probably fucking smashed it." Adam looks horrified. "Well not in front of you, darling. I'd have dragged the fucker back inside."

"I'd have heard you through the wall."

"Yea," Nigel teases, rubbing their hips together, "and I would have sworn like a fucking sailor."

"Sailors -  _ah_  - don't swear as much as you." Adam arches into the touch, pushing his bottom into Nigel's groping hand as it wanders south.

"How would you know?"

Adam smiles, brushes his lips over Nigel's. "I don't," he admits, "but no one can swear as much as you."

Nigel grabs a kiss from that beautiful mouth, then another, and another. "Fucking right," he says proudly, "nobody says  _fuck_  quite like me."

He draws the word out, watches the delicious shiver it spills over the younger man.

"Mmm, baby," he murmurs, "can I fuck you right on this fucking desk?"

Adam moans, looks down the hall. "We're not -  _mnn_  - we're not the only ones on this floor." He hops up anyway when Nigel picks him up, legs automatically going around his waist. Nigel dives into his mouth, licking at the curve of his lips, biting the swell of each. His hands are suddenly everywhere, ravenous, one sliding up between his shoulder blades, the other dipping beneath the waistband of his trousers, under his briefs.

He shifts, bending Adam lower and sucking at his pulse points, moving his hand down, down until a finger just grazes against his hole. Adam makes a gorgeous little hitching sound, splays his legs wider. Nigel can feel the jut of his cock rubbing against his thigh.

"Fuck, baby," he breathes into his ear, "make that fucking noise for me again."

He does, and Nigel's hips thrust roughly, almost in a spasm.

Beneath them, the desk shudders.

Nigel immediately stops.

"No," he growls, dragging Adam from its surface, "we are not fucking this desk up. I spent fucking weeks on this for you."

Adam's arms are slung loose about his neck, feet barely touched the floor. He bites Nigel's ear lazily, licks at the shell with the tip of his tongue.

"Then bring it inside," he says, "and fuck me on our bed."

The phrase 'our bed' warms Nigel's spine more than a million 'fucks' ever could. "Christ, Adam," he swears, "I'll fuck you on our bed until you fucking scream."

Adam fishes his house keys from his pocket, haphazardly searching for the lock while he keeps his mouth glued to Nigel's neck. "That won't take long," he promises.

The door swings open behind them and they both stumble through.

"Bring the desk in," Adam gasps, giving him a little shove.

"Fuck, where should I put it?"

Adam is already unbuttoning his shirt, toeing off his shoes. "Anywhere," he says, "we're moving soon anyway."

He peels off the white t-shirt underneath, balls it up and throws it at Nigel. Nigel catches it and takes an exaggerated whiff, eyes closed. Adam’s nose crinkles but his eyes are merry.

"Hurry up," he says.

By the time Nigel has dragged the desk inside, careful not to chip even the tiniest sliver of paint, he finds Adam supine on the bed, curls spread in a wild halo.

And gloriously fucking naked.

He crooks a finger at Nigel, who is already making fast and clumsy work of undoing his pants.

"Catch up," Adam calls playfully.

This. This is the reason Nigel spent hours recreating the Milky Way in painstaking fucking detail. This is the reason he cut and sanded the wood by hand, why he dragged each piece into his apartment in the quiet of the night, careful, always fucking careful not to make a fucking sound. This is why he swallowed down each fucking curse when splinters dug into his palms, biting down his obscenities when he dropped a hammer on his foot. Three fucking times.

All of this for Adam. His fucking starman, his darling, his baby, his fucking petal in bloom.

He loves him so much it fucking hurts.

He says as much aloud, and Adam opens up his arms.

"I'll make it hurt less," he promises, even though Nigel knows it's a lie. Nothing can diminish the ache in his chest. An ache so deep that sometimes he thinks it might crack open his fucking ribs. He suffers it fucking gladly.

Fully divested of his own clothing, he dives atop Adam, blanketing him with kisses and lingering touches, one hand stroking up his pale thigh and slinging it over his hip.

"My fucking starman," he whispers, throat newly thick with tears. "Fuck," he shakes his head, wipes the wet away on his shoulder, "are you fucking sure about this?"

Adam cocks his head. "Yes, of course," he says, "I definitely want to have sex right now."

"No," Nigel strokes his hair, "no not fucking that. I mean, yes fucking that but - you really want to fucking live with me, baby?"

Adam looks genuinely puzzled. "Yes. I said that I did."

And that, really, is that.

Nigel swoops for another kiss, thanks as many lucky fucking stars as he can that he gets to love and be loved by Adam fucking Raki.

“What do you want, darling? Anything, fucking anything, baby, just tell me”

Adam tilts up for a kiss, palms sliding up his chest and dragging over the coarse curls.

“Your mouth,” he requests, “and then, slow.”

Nigel nods, obeisant. He ducks his head, scoots down to lave at a nipple, already peaked from mingled chill and arousal. He sucks and bites, drags his teeth over it, catching a growl in his throat when slim fingers glide through his hair. Adam makes little noises of encouragement, hands moving with Nigel when he shifts to lavish equal attention to the opposite side.

He licks and bites over Adam’s skin, finding the most sensitive spots, just behind his ear, the crease of his hipbone, the inside of his wrist. He mouths kisses everywhere, keeping his tongue hot and pressed to each part of flesh he can touch. Adam begins to writhe under him like a thing possessed, bony hips rising and thrusting up, his cock half-hard and seeking.

Nigel studiously ignores it, traveling further down to kiss the soft skin under the bend of his knee, to suck a bruise on his calf. He nibbles delicately over the bone of his ankle until Adam emits a tremulous giggle, whispers a breathy ‘please’.

Taking pity, Nigel places a hand on each thigh and spreads Adam wide, wide enough for him to feel a sweet burn of resistance in his thighs.

His cock juts from between his legs, head glossy with pre-cum. With thumbs pressed firm at Adam’s inner thighs, Nigel bends low, seals his lips over the head and gently – far too gently – suckles. Little, lapping sucks that tease and tickle until Adam is thrashing his head against the sheets, eyes screwed tight and lip almost white from the strain of biting down.

Nigel adds pressure with his tongue, moves his mouth a fraction of an inch down.

Adam bucks so hard that for a moment he thinks he might have hurt him, but once the white-hot stab of pleasure flickers down, he settles.

Nigel keeps going, slowly adding centimeter by centimeter with just a little more pressure each time.

Suck. Lick. Suck. Pause. Suck harder. Repeat.

Adam’s is not the first cock Nigel has had in his mouth, but it is without a doubt the first and only cock he has developed a full-blown addiction to. The sweet-salty taste of him, the weight of him on his tongue, the fucking delicious noises he makes; he savours it all like a banquet. Nigel could suck his cock for hours – in fact he almost has - would have – except he also happens to be really fucking good at making Adam cum.

He descends again, a harder suck and the tip of his tongue running under the head as he rises. He lets Adam pop free for a moment and just licks at the slit, lapping up each bead of pre-cum with wet, hungry noises.

Adam is barely making sounds anymore, just guttural grunts that echo from his throat. One hand is now fluttering uselessly over his thigh, shaking with the rising tension of an oncoming climax.

“Pl-please,” he manages to choke out.

Nigel pauses, having just flattened his tongue against the thick vein running up Adam’s length.

“Plee wha?” he says, mindless of the saliva that leaks out and mixes between Adam’s legs. He flexes his tongue and Adam’s cock jumps beneath it.

“Inside,” Adam wheezes, “in-inside now.”

Nigel loosens his tongue “Okay, baby,” he purrs, kissing hot and wet beneath Adam’s balls, “spread your fucking legs for me.”

Adam is already spread wide, but to see him strain just that little extra makes Nigel’s own cock jump against his belly. He noses further down, between Adam’s cheeks.

Adam twists, tries to bat him away. “No mouth there,” he pouts.

Nigel huffs in put-upon disappointment, massages Adam’s hip. “Fine,” he concedes, “pass me the fucking lube, will you petal?”

Adam reaches blindly for the bottle, uncaps it and pours some on his own hand before handing it to Nigel.

“Hey,” Nigel says, “no touching yourself yet, darling, you’ll spoil the fucking fun.”

“Not what it’s for,” Adam replies, then reaches down, takes Nigel’s hand in his slippery one and guides them in together, one finger each. It’s a rough stretch, but Adam’s fingers are delicate and he’s slick enough that the sting doesn’t last long. Nigel pours more lube over his fingers with his free hand, working him open and watching in hazy awe as Adam’s pale finger keeps disappearing inside alongside Nigel’s tan one.

Occasionally he meets Nigel’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, and both their cocks jump.

“’Nother,” Adam pants, and Nigel swears.

“Yours or mine?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, to eager to be swallowed up, and he adds a third finger, joining Adam’s first and his second. Together they rub and stretch, Adam’s opening growing increasingly hot to the touch. Nigel seeks upwards to find the secret spot that drives Adam wild, and when he finds it he presses hard.

Adam keens, a broken sound that drifts between two octaves. It sounds like he is being split in two. Nigel presses his free hand sharply against his own reddening cock to stop from coming.

“Christ, petal,” Nigel praises, “do you know how fucking gorgeous you are?”

Adam shakes his head against the pillows.

“Yes you fucking are,” he insists, fingers working faster and wider, “look at how you fucking eat me up. _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, inhaling sharply, “Baby, I’m so fucking hard for you are you ready – fuck – please, petal.”

“ _Yesss_ ,” Adam pulls his finger free with a wet sound, grabs at Nigel’s wrist. “You now.”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Nigel clambers up his body lightning-fast, the light swell of his belly grazing against the sticky dampness of Adam’s cock. A thin line of pre-come joins and breaks between them.

He reaches overhead for a condom, rolls it on and settles between Adam’s legs.

“Like this or on your tummy, baby?”

Adam likes both. Adam likes variety. Adam likes fucking everything, as long as it’s with Nigel, and the thought of that alone makes his knees wobble.

Right now, Adam considers. Then he sits up, pulling Nigel towards him. He maneuvers the older man so he sits with his back to the headboard, cock sticking up from his lap and pleading for both attention and surrender. Carefully, Adam straddles him, wrapping a pale hand around Nigel’s length and poising himself atop.

“Hold me open,” he instructs, and Nigel parts his cheeks with wide, scarred hands, his thumb grazing at the edge of Adam’s hole, scorched by the heat.

Adam lowers himself, moans as he feels the tip of Nigel’s cock impale him.

Slowly, carefully, he sinks down.

He doesn’t take quite as much time as Nigel did sucking him off, but it still feels like a millennia. Nigel is pretty sure he witnesses the birth of at least two minor galaxies before Adam is seated to the hilt.

Once he is, he lets out a blissfully contended sigh, bending to press his forehead to Nigel’s. Catlike, he smiles, eyelids already drifted shut.

“F-fuck,” Nigel stutters, “ohhh you – fuck, petal, you feel so good.” He takes a handful of each ass cheek, spreads and squeezes. “So fucking tight.”

He kisses Adam’s neck, licks the salt into his mouth. Adam begins to slowly rise, hips undulating.

Nigel would have never imagined how quickly and skillfully Adam would take to sex, especially the uncharted territory of sex with a man, but the boy is a fucking natural.

More than a fucking natural, he’s a fucking God.

Adam begins to establish a lazy rhythm, letting Nigel’s cock press against his prostate on each angled thrust. His face is a mask of blissful concentration, and Nigel just watches him in awe, palms ghosting through the trickles of sweat that run down his back, the little knobs of his spine. Adam’s head droops forward and rests in the curve of Nigel’s throat, his hands clinging tight to his shoulders.

Nigel meets him thrust for thrust, his growls becoming more feral the further they spiral together. Adam kisses above his temple, at the corner of his eye. Nigel kisses the base of his throat, snaps biting at his collarbone.

Adam clings tighter, hips beginning to shake.

Nigel realizes that he hasn’t said a word for at least five minutes.

He keeps his mouth fucking shut, takes Adam’s chin in his hand. Adam meets his eyes and inhales sharply. He does not look away.

Between them, far beyond their growing climaxes, they feel the first budding blossom of something entirely new. The flower unfurls, petal by petal, and with each discovered layer they begin to shake apart. High above them, the stars begin to flicker with life, each one threaded to the next, lighting up on the deepest thrust of each joining.

Nigel opens his mouth, closes it, palms Adam’s cheek and watches the flush spill darker. Adam looks down at Nigel’s hand, sucks his thumb into his mouth.

Lashes low and teasing, he bites down on the fleshy pad.

Nigel comes, hips snapping up, lips open in a soundless ‘o’.

Adam throws his head back and howls. Nigel wraps a fist around his cock and tugs, his grip growing slippier and slicker as Adam leaks copious between them.

“Fuck, baby, fucking gorgeous you are, I fucking love you so fucking-”

Adam cries, a broken thing, spurts hot over Nigel’s hand and near-collapses backward. Nigel catches him, arms around his back, pulls him in and holds him close.

They stay joined a while longer, before Adam makes a face when his skin starts to dry tacky. He unseats himself and with a quick kiss he dismounts from the bed, padding quietly to the shower. Nigel tugs off the condom, ties it off, and follows suit.

They stand under the hot spray, skin pink and warm, hands touching lazy and soft.

Adam curls into him, blinks up from under watery eyelashes.

“Could it be like this always?” he asks.

“Always,” Nigel replies, rubbing his stubbled cheek against Adam’s smooth one.

“No,” Adam says, tracing patterns in Nigel’s shoulders that the water immediately washes away.

“I mean, _always_ ,” he repeats, “you and me.”

He inhales deep, breathes out slow. “I love you, Nigel.”

His eyes are staring into the spray, still with him but far away.

“I don’t want to stop being with you,” he says, “ever. Is that okay?”

Nigel is thankful that water between them serves as a disguise for the tears that sneak free.

“More than fucking okay, petal.” He pulls him into his chest, kisses the wet mess of his hair. “This is all I could ever fucking want.”

They let the water sluice over them in peaceful silence before it begins to run cold and Nigel helps Adam out, patting him dry with a thick towel and hoisting him into his arms. He carries him to the bedroom, helps him into a clean set of pajamas and pulls them both under the covers.

He thinks of _always_ , and what it actually means. Of where he has to go to achieve it.

There are some things he needs to do. Conversations he has to have. A confession he has to make.

Adam stretches like a kitten and nestles against Nigel’s chest. Nigel kisses his hair again, drying fluffy and wild. He lets the peace flow between them, does not try to break its delicate thread.

Adam murmurs something sleepy, it sounds remarkably like _I love you_.

Nigel sighs.

It can wait until morning.


	2. Epilogue

Adam picks up the phone on the first ring.

7 p.m. Nigel said he would call at 7 p.m. exactly and Nigel is never late. He knows how important time is to Adam.

Adam doesn’t know that Nigel has been sitting with his phone for the past eighteen minutes, watching the seconds pass painfully by. He doesn’t know that Nigel hit dial at 6:59 and 58 seconds (Pacific Standard Time) because another second would have been a knife in the gut.

He does know joy in the purest sense of it when Nigel’s voice crackles sugary-rough on the other end of the line.

“Hello, petal.”

“Hi, Nigel.”

Nigel hears the sunny grin that spreads wide almost six thousand miles away. He exhales heavily, the weight of being without his missing piece temporarily lifted by the sound of his voice.

“I fucking miss you.”

“I miss you too. I miss you a lot. I made mac and cheese for dinner last night but it didn’t taste the same, which is strange because I didn’t make it any differently than I normally do - have you been adding something to it when you make it?”

Nigel chuckles. “Just love, darling.”

“Love isn’t an ingredient, Nigel.”

“It is for us.”

He can see Adam’s little knit of a frown, his pursed mouth as he tries to parse meaning from Nigel’s romanticism, and he can also see the frown resolve itself with a fond shrug as Adam accepts what is clearly a compliment.

Adam accepts so fucking much.

Nigel is so fucking lucky.

Which is why he is here, in shitty fucking Bucharest, in a cheap fucking hotel room, officially and legally and finally fucking divorced.

It had been so easy, so ridiculously easy for him to fall in love with Adam Raki that for a couple of months there he’d forgotten he’d ever been married at all. But when Adam had told Nigel he wanted an always, the memory had stabbed right into his temple, hitting like the bullet that had thankfully missed.

He had told Adam, shaking as he did, that he wanted that too, but there were some things that maybe he needed to know.

He told him everything. Everything, even the bits that could make a weaker man piss his pants. Adam had sat very still, held his hand, stroked the scars on his knuckles in that way that he knew kept Nigel calm.

When he was done, Adam clasped their fingers together, eyes set on them, had pushed a stern breath out his nose and said just one thing.

“Are you still married to her?”

Of all the shitty, awful fucking things he’d just exposed innocent Adam Raki to, and that had been the only question.

“Shit,” Nigel had exclaimed, “fucking - yes.”

“Okay.” Adam said quietly, and then those wide blue starlight eyes had met his. “I think you shouldn’t be.”

So now Nigel sits, fingers clenched in the ratty bedspread of an uncomfortable bed, exhausted and ready as fuck to get on a plane back home.

“How did it go?”

Nigel taps out a cigarette from the ever present pack in his pocket, sticks it between his teeth.

“Fine,” he replies, sparking the smoke alight and taking a long suck, “signed the fucking papers, said my goodbyes, done and fucking dusted.”

“Are you sad?”

Nigel closes his eyes, exhales the smoke out his nose.

“No, petal. Not sad. Well, I’m fucking sad to be away from you.”

He hears the cogs of Adam’s brain working on the other end of the line.

“When people get divorced, they’re usually sad. That’s never made sense to me. If they’re getting divorced it’s because they’re unhappy or sad, so once it’s over they should be happy.”

Nigel laughs, takes another drag. “Not everyone has you to come home to after a divorce. If they did, they’d all be happy as a fucking clam.”

“That’s not true,” Adam reasons, “I don’t make everyone happy.”

There is a slight pause, a shift, and Nigel swears he can hear Adam’s shy little smile.

“But I"m really glad I make you happy.”

Nigel flops back onto the bed, grin tugging at his mouth.

“God, you do, darling. More than anything.”

Adam goes quiet, the kind of quiet usually reserved for what Nigel likes to call his Deep Thinks. 

“What’s going on in that gorgeous brain of yours?”

The words come out in a bit of a rush, but Nigel hears them clear as a bell.

“Do you think we should get married?”

Nigel sits bolt upright, stubs his cigarette out on the nearest available surface and nearly chokes.

“Christ, Adam! You can’t fucking say shit like that on the phone!”

“Oh.” His voice is suddenly small and sad. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No no no - shh, petal, don’t go to that place, that’s not what I’m saying.”

He murmurs little hushes and sweets sounds down the line, just the way he knows Adam likes.

“You can’t fucking say shit like that because how am I going to propose to you properly now?”

The little hitched intake, barely a gasp followed by a tiny ‘oh’, might be one of the sweetest sounds Nigel has ever heard.

“Pro-propose? You want to propose?”

Nigel broadcasts his warm smile as forcefully as he can, wrapping Adam up in all the love he has to give.

“Of course, petal. Why the fuck else would I take the soonest red-eye to fucking Bucharest to get a divorce?”

“Well because - because you didn’t want to be married to her anymore.”

“Right,” Nigel agrees, “I didn’t. But I also really, really want to be fucking married to you.”

“Oh.”

Nigel rolls back onto the bed, turns on his side and curls the phone to his ear.

“So do me a favour, darling. Hold that question in your head for when I come home. And if you want to ask it first, you can, but I want to see your gorgeous fucking face when you do.”

Adam laughs, that nervous little laugh reserved for when Nigel calls him gorgeous, because he still doesn’t quite believe it himself but it’s more than enough that Nigel does.

“Okay,” Adam says, “when will you be home?”

“First plane in the morning. As soon as I fucking can. Trust me, I’m counting the fucking hours.”

He presses a kiss to his phone. “Did you feel that, petal?”

“No. You can’t feel a kiss through a phone.”

“Can’t you?” Nigel smirks and holds the phone to his mouth. “Try it.”

“What?”

“Kiss your phone for me, darling.”

Adam doesn’t protest, he’s learned not to, and besides, there’s no one else in the apartment to see him do something so silly. He kisses his phone lightly, but he makes an exaggerated smacking sound that resonates across the continents. Nigel hums a happy noise.

“Mmm, felt that.”

Adam smiles. “You did not.”

“Fucking magic, what can I tell you?” He sighs loudly, happy and aching all at once. “I love you, petal.”

“Love you too, Nigel.”

And fuck if Nigel can’t feel those words throughout every fiber of his being. It’s magic enough for him. He’ll keep Adam on the phone for a few more hours, until he can drag his ass to the fucking airport. He’ll listen to Adam breathe, and eat, and maybe sleep, he doesn’t fucking care, as long as there’s the tiniest part of him there with him. And then he’ll get on that fucking plane and count every maddening second until he’s back home.

And then?

And then, Nigel is buying a fucking ring.

**Author's Note:**

> Come party with me [on the tumbles](http://lovecrimevariations.tumblr.com)


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